After breaking up with my boyfriend, I made a fortune and rose rapidly in my career.

"Director Chen, the tea in my garden is quite good. Would you like to have a cup before you leave?"

These words, spoken on the gravel path, instantly created a tense atmosphere in the courtyard.

Chen Pingfang stood on the steps, his left hand resting on the handrail, looking down at the courtyard gate. Zhang Jingru leaned on a black cane, his back ramrod straight; though over seventy years old, his spine was not bent an inch.

Qian Bo followed half a step behind, his suit jacket buttoned up tightly, his hands folded in front of him, and his chin slightly tucked in.

The inspection team members in the courtyard all stopped what they were doing. The street office officials, clutching their work badges, stood frozen in place.

Chen Ping loosened the handrail and walked down the steps.

"Qin Yu." He didn't turn around, but uttered two words in a low voice.

Qin Yu, standing behind him, nodded slightly and gestured to the inspection team with his right hand, signaling them to stay put.

Chen Ping walked across the gravel path and stood in front of Zhang Jingru. The two were less than two meters apart, with a very short-pruned five-needle pine tree between them, its branches trimmed into cloud-like shapes.

"It wouldn't be right not to have a drink with Old Zhang since he's come in person."

Zhang Jingru raised his chin, pulled his cane to his side, and turned to walk towards the main building of the Hui-style architecture. Qian Bo followed half a step, but was blocked by Zhang Jingru with his cane.

"You wait outside."

Qian Bo's Adam's apple bobbed, his lips tightened for three seconds, and he retreated to the iron gate.

In the main room sat a rosewood octagonal table, its surface polished so smooth it reflected a person's image. Zhang Jingru took out a set of purple clay teapots from the cabinet; the teapots were covered with a coppery-green patina, clearly indicating they had been used for decades.

Zhang Jingru began boiling water, warming the kettle, adding tea leaves, and pouring water. Every movement was slow and unhurried. His cane rested on the chair leg, and his hands were remarkably steady.

Chen Ping sat down opposite him, resting his hands on the edge of the table without touching anything.

The tea was poured into two celadon cups; its color was a deep reddish-brown.

"The last half ounce of the 1993 Narcissus tea." Zhang Jingru pushed one cup over, picked up the other cup himself, smelled it, and didn't drink it in a hurry.

"Director Chen, how old are you?"

"Forty-three."

"Forty-three," Zhang Jingru repeated the number, placing his teacup back on the table. "When I was forty-three, I had just taken up the position of deputy chief prosecutor of the provincial procuratorate. Guess how many people I had under me back then?"

Chen Ping didn't respond.

"There are 376 on-staff police officers, plus those on secondment and temporary contracts, totaling nearly 500 people. In the entire province's anti-corruption line, a single instruction from me can empty anyone's office."

Zhang Jingru's thumb rubbed the rim of the cup, his nails were yellowed, and his knuckles were large.

"But that's nothing. The reason I was able to gain a foothold is because of people's hearts. Do you know how I went from a poor boy in Linchuan County who couldn't even afford to eat, to this vice-provincial level position?"

Chen Ping picked up his teacup, took a sip, and then put it down again.

"I rely on just two words: bookkeeping." Zhang Jingru's lips were very thin and barely moved when he spoke.

"Whether it's someone who helped me in the past, someone who blocked my way, someone who owes me a favor, or someone who took money but didn't do the job, I will write it all down. I've been keeping records for thirty years, and I haven't missed a single one."

He kept his eyes on Chen Pingfang as he said this, his expression very serious.

"Do you think those few pieces of paper you found today can have any impact on me?"

Chen Ping placed the teacup securely, then crossed his hands and placed them on the table.

"Mr. Zhang, what you said might have made a lot of sense to me twenty years ago."

Zhang Jingru's thumb stopped moving.

"But the situation is different now."

Chen Ping didn't sit up straight; he leaned back in his chair.

"You just mentioned keeping accounts. You've been keeping accounts for thirty years, and every single entry is crystal clear. You think this is your skill, that you can use these things to make everyone listen to you and not dare to have any other thoughts."

Zhang Jingru didn't speak, he just listened.

"But have you ever thought about it? The only reason your ledger is useful is because no one else knows it. Who received the money, who did the work, whether they met each other—only you know all these things, so everyone is afraid of you."

Chen Ping leaned forward slightly.

"Because times have changed."

When he said the words "times have changed," his voice sounded very low.

"Now the banking system is networked nationwide, mobile phone calls have big data records, there are satellites in the sky, and facial recognition on the ground. Things you used to need connections to access can now be retrieved on a computer as long as you have the necessary permissions. So, your account book is no longer the most complete one."

For the first time, Zhang Jingru's back showed a slight, almost imperceptible stiffness.

"In the Veridian acquisition, you arranged for Yan Qinghua to handle the deal, using an offshore structure from thirteen years ago. When NexvanceBV registered in the Netherlands, it didn't even isolate the beneficial owners because nobody checked those things back then. But this year, the sixth edition of the EU's Anti-Money Laundering Directive came into effect, and all the registration information of the Dutch Chamber of Commerce is now publicly available."

Chen Ping gently tapped his fingers on the table.

"Your plan is based on rules from twenty years ago. But the rules have changed long ago."

Zhang Jingru picked up the teacup, brought it to his lips, paused for two seconds, and then put it down. The tea had gone cold.

"Wu Shaoming stayed with you until the very last second. You taught him to use his mother's illness as leverage to buy time, but you didn't even know that his mother's surgery was on schedule. That's because you don't use the internet or the hospital system; all your information comes from people. People can lie to you, but the system won't."

Outside the main room, the wind rustled through the bamboo grove, filling the silence between the two people with its soft sound.

Zhang Jingru withdrew his right hand from the table and placed it on his knee.

"Fang Zhiyuan was silenced in the detention center. The people you mobilized were those planted during the major rotation back then. That set of instructions went through three layers and passed through four people. You thought it was airtight, but everyone's cell phone signal, call records, and movement trajectory were all in the public security's data pool. Three technicians could sort out the whole line in two days."

Chen Ping picked up the glass of cold narcissus wine and looked at it.

"Mr. Zhang, your tea is excellent."

He brought the rim of the cup to his lips and took a small sip.

"It's a pity it's cold now."

The teacup was gently placed back on the table.

"Times have changed. Your old ways, like this cup of tea, have long since gone cold. No one can stop that."

The main room remained quiet for a long time.

Zhang Jingru's hands rested on his knees, remaining still. His cloudy eyes stared at the purple clay teapot on the table, a single drop of tea still clinging to its spout.

His lips moved twice, as if he wanted to say something but then swallowed it back.

After another ten seconds or so, the thin lips finally split open.

"You win."

The three words were both light and dry.

Chen Ping stood up from his chair: "Your era has passed."

Zhang Jingru raised his head, the light in his old eyes gradually dimming. He reached for his cane leaning against the chair leg, and after a couple of pushes, he finally stood up.

His back is bent.

Before Chen Ping let him in, that spine was still straight.

At the entrance of the courtyard, at the end of the gravel path, several people walked in.

The leader wore a dark overcoat, walked at a moderate pace, had graying temples, and wore a Party emblem on his chest.

Zhao Deshan. Secretary of the Provincial Commission for Discipline Inspection.

He was followed by four people, two carrying briefcases and two in uniform.

Zhao Deshan walked across the gravel path, past the five-needle pine tree, and into the main room.

Zhang Jingru stood motionless in front of the octagonal table, his cane supporting him on the ground.

Zhao Deshan stopped in front of him, took out a red-covered approval document from his briefcase, and unfolded it with both hands.

"Old leader, this is the approval document from the Central Commission for Discipline Inspection's special investigation team."

He paused for a moment.

"Come with us."

Zhang Jingru's cane tapped one last time on the floor tiles.

Outside the main room, the rustling of the bamboo grove gradually subsided. Chen Pingfang stood on the steps, watching the hunched figure being helped out of the iron gate.

The iron gate closed with a creaking sound, and rusty pieces fell to the ground.